


Night Visitors

by Maiden_of_Asgard



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Voldemort Wins, Death Eaters, Draco Malfoy in the Muggle World, Draco Malfoy is Clueless About Muggle Things, F/M, Fake Marriage, Hotels, I Blame Tumblr, Not Canon Compliant, On the Run, Post-Second War with Voldemort, Wizarding World (Harry Potter)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-11
Updated: 2020-12-18
Packaged: 2021-02-28 04:48:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,672
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22658065
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Maiden_of_Asgard/pseuds/Maiden_of_Asgard
Summary: You don't get many truly interesting guests at the motel often - at least, none quite as fascinating as Draco Malfoy. He's standoffish, scruffy, and clearly on the run from something. You know it's none of your business... but that doesn't make you any less curious.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Reader, Draco Malfoy/You
Comments: 30
Kudos: 196





	1. Chapter 1

You slide the key card across the desk, and the newest guest at the antiquated, middle-of-nowhere motel where you work just stares at it, perplexed. “Uh… that’s for your room,” you tell him. “207.” Maybe he’s drunk, or maybe he’s high on something. You do get all types out here. 

He picks up the card. His fingers are pale and long, but there’s bruising on his knuckles and wrists. 

_ Trouble,  _ you think, but it’s the off-season, and money is money. He’d even handed you more than you’d asked for, and you’d assumed the rest was meant to keep you from asking too many questions.  _ Cash.  _

“You just go outside and turn left,” you tell him, “then you’ll see the stairs around the corner.”

“Right,” he says. His accent is British, but that doesn’t really tell you much, other than that he isn’t from around here. Maybe he’s a tourist who’s had a rough day. Maybe he’s something much worse. 

You shouldn’t judge. 

“You can park your car anywhere. I doubt we’ll get busy. It should be pretty quiet around here, honestly. Not many people come up here in the winter.” You try to glance around his shoulder to get a look out of the window, because you didn’t even hear him drive up in the first place, but you don’t see any new cars parked out front. 

The man nods. His pale hair is a little shaggy, and from the way he’s fidgeting with it, you get the impression that he isn’t used to having it that length. 

“There’s a grocery store and a couple of fast food places within walking distance,” you continue, “but they’re a pretty good walk, and I imagine this storm front is going to get here soon.”

“I see.”

He practically radiates nervous energy, his eyes darting around the room like he’s some kind of caged animal. It’s weird, sure, but it’s not like you haven’t seen weirder. In the off-season, out-of-the-way cheap motels tend to attract some interesting types. 

“We aren’t fancy enough for a bellhop,” you tell him, forcing a cheerful smile, “but I can help you with your luggage, if you need an extra set of hands.”

He pats the messenger bag at his side. “I only have this,” he says, and he hesitates a moment before adding, “but thank you.”

“No problem. I stay here, so if you need anything, let me know. We don’t do continental breakfast or anything like that, but help yourself to coffee.” You gesture towards the little snack-table in the far corner. “Oh, and the pizza place in town delivers here now.”

“Tea?” he asks. 

“Yeah, but we don’t have much variety.”

“Thanks.” 

He turns and leaves abruptly, and you shamelessly peer out the window after him, watching as he heads off towards the stairs.  _ No car,  _ you think.  _ That’s weird.  _

You turn the guest book around and look at his signature.  _ Draco Malfoy.  _ You decide that can’t possibly be his real name. He’s definitely trouble. Even though you tell yourself that you’re acting crazy, you take the page and tuck it into your pocket. If you can get the computer working, maybe you can try to look him up or something. 

But he’s also undeniably handsome, and you fidget with your hair when he comes back a few minutes later, even as you tell yourself that you’re being ridiculous. The guy doesn’t look particularly approachable, and it’s not like you’re supposed to flirt with guests, anyway. 

Thunder rumbles, and the rain begins to pour as he examines the bags of tea. You see his lip curl in disapproval, and you clear your throat. “Don’t see what you’re looking for?” you ask, rounding the counter. 

He starts slightly, almost like he’d forgotten you were there at all. “No,” he replies, “but I can make do.”

You fix yourself a coffee as he settles down on one of the seats by the window, holding his little paper cup of tea with an odd sort of elegance.  _ Rich kid, I bet,  _ you think. He seems like he’d be far more at-home somewhere much more expensive, even though he looks a bit bedraggled. 

“Mind if I sit?” you ask, and when he gives a curt nod, you settle onto the couch across from him. “You’ve got an interesting name, if you don’t mind me saying so. I’ve never met anyone named Draco.”

“I’m not surprised,” he says. He takes a sip of his tea. 

“What brings you out this way? Taking a vacation?”

His gaze slides from the window, and he really looks you in the eyes for the first time; the dark, tired circles under his eyes make the grey of his irises even more striking. “Something like that.”

“Ah.” It’s clear he isn’t in the mood to chat, but you’re bored out of your mind, and you feel like it would be even more awkward to stare at him from behind the counter while you wait for the storm to pass. “Been around here before, or first time?”

“First time.”

“That was my guess.”

There’s more silence - normally, the silence wouldn’t bother you, but there’s something about him that you can’t quite put your finger on, and that something has you fascinated.  _ Handsome, mysterious stranger in a leather jacket? Who wouldn’t be fascinated? _

You tell yourself that you need to get a more exciting job, if this is all it takes to capture your interest. 

He clears his throat. “I could not get the telephone to work,” he says stiffly, like it’s the source of some great shame. “I thought I’d order something to eat…”

“Ah, yeah. Everything here is kind of ancient. It isn’t unusual for things to break; I’ll make a note for someone to check it out. Want to use the one in here?”

When he seems hesitant, you add, “I was just about to order myself a pizza, anyway. It’s no big deal.”

“Right,” he says, producing a couple of twenty-dollar bills from his pocket. “This should cover it.”

You stare at the cash in his hand, wondering if he’s making some kind of joke, then you carefully pluck one of the bills from his fingers. “I get the feeling you aren’t used to handling cash here, huh?”

Draco Malfoy looks offended at first, but then he must realize that you’re only teasing him, because his expression tentatively relaxes. “You could say that.”

“Hey, don’t feel bad. I’ve never been anywhere, really. It must take some getting used to, travelling to a new place. Toppings?”

“Anything.”

You’re tempted to ask if he’s had pizza before, because he still seems a little perplexed, but you don’t want to be insulting. It isn’t like pizza is some rare local delicacy. Maybe he just isn’t used to strangers chatting him up. That’s probably it. 

He’s staring out the window again when you return from placing the order.  _ Melancholy,  _ you think. You know it isn’t any of your business, but you’re curious. 

“Messy out there,” you remark. 

He runs his fingertip along the bottom of one of the windowpanes, already fogging from the condensation. “I’ve seen worse.”

“Everything in your room okay, except for the phone?”

“It’ll do.”

_ What a glowing review.  _ Giving up on small talk, you retrieve your book from behind the counter and settle down to read for a while. It looks like it’s going to be a pretty dull day, mysterious stranger aside. No one else is going to brave the storms.  _ Except for the poor pizza delivery guy, I guess.  _

You aren’t surprised by the slight curl of his lip as he carefully dabs grease from his slice of pizza with a napkin, and you have to cough to cover your laugh. Draco Malfoy might be a little picky, but he’s certainly hungry enough to make up for it; he’s fastidious and neat, but you sit there and watch in awe as he puts away an entire pizza by himself. You’d hoped some food would put him in a more genial mood, but it hasn’t. 

“Well, thanks for the company,” you tell him, licking your fingers. He looks vaguely appalled by your manners, which is half of the reason that you’re doing it in the first place. “Better get back to work.”

There really isn’t much to do, but you can only sit near the man in total silence for so long, so you go tidy up the front desk. Night has begun to fall. Through the window, you can see the flash of lightning, and the power flickers for a moment. 

You don’t really enjoy the dark. You might be in for a long night. 

Guest 207 has another cup of tea that he doesn’t seem particularly enthused about before he heads out of the office and off to his room. “Goodnight,” you call after him, smacking yourself on the forehead as soon as you’re alone.  _ You sound pathetic,  _ you tell yourself.  _ Stop trying so hard. You don’t have any business chatting up guests in the first place.  _

You’re reading your book at the counter when the lights flicker again, then go out. As much as you’d like to stay inside, you figure you should probably take a look around. You grab the flashlight from your drawer and head outside. If you’re lucky, there’s just a branch on the power line, and it’ll be back on in a few minutes. 

The parking lot is already a muddy mess, and you sigh; muddy parking lots mean muddy boots tracking all over your clean floors, and since you’re the resident jack-of-all-trades, you’re probably going to spend a good chunk of tomorrow mopping up after the guests. 

Despite the heavy rain, there’s an unexpected amount of moonlight peeking through the clouds. You turn of your flashlight to save battery as you pass by the darkened alcove that holds the vending machines, turning the corner to head around to the back of the building. 

Another flash of lightning reveals three dark, hooded figures emerging from the woods out behind the back parking lot. They come from  _ nowhere -  _ the tree line was empty one moment, and they appeared in the next. You duck back around the corner, your heart racing.

A hand clamps down over your mouth like an iron vice, and you flail and panic as you’re wrested into darkness. “Quiet,” a voice hisses in your ear, and you don’t know whether to be relieved or even more frightened, because the voice undoubtedly belongs to Draco Malfoy. “Make one sound, and you die. Understand?”

You nod. 

“You’re going to go in there, and you’re going to tell them that you’ve never heard my name. You’ve never seen anyone who looks  _ anything _ like me.” He lowers his hand. “Can you do that, Muggle?”

_ What?  _ you think, but you nod. 

“Get rid of them,” he says. “If you don’t, we’re both dead.”

You want to ask who these people  _ are, _ and you want to ask why you have to get involved in his mess in the first place, but your frantic heartbeat cautions you against any arguments. 

“Go,” he says.

Quickly, you hurry to the front office, your hands curled into fists inside of your coat pockets.  _ Get rid of them,  _ you think.  _ Easy enough. Everything will be fine.  _ Meanwhile, the other part of your brain is cursing you for being so smitten with the brooding, mysterious foreigner in the first place, especially since you knew he was trouble the moment he walked into the lobby. Your teeth are chattering; your brain still hasn’t quite processed the fact that you just saw shadows turn into people right before your eyes. 

You push open the door. 

Two men and one woman turn to watch you as you hurry behind the counter, a frozen smile on your face. “Sorry,” you say, “can I help you?”

The woman’s eyes narrow, but her look of suspicion is almost immediately replaced with a smile that’s even more fake than your own. Her dark hair is wild and wind-tossed, and she’s dressed in strange, old-fashioned clothes, as are the men standing impassively by her side. “I do hope so,” she says. “I’ve misplaced my nephew.”

You falter.  _ Nephew?  _ “We haven’t had many people stop by this week,” you tell her, glancing down at the guest book, where you’d never remembered to return the page with Draco Malfoy’s signature. “It’s the off-season.” The woman is moving closer, and something in her eyes fills you with dread. “He’s a kid, your nephew?”

“No, but he’s very disturbed.” Her laugh is shrill, and neither of the men with her seem to find anything humorous about the situation. “We do need to get him home, before he causes any more trouble.”

Draco Malfoy is probably running away this very second, leaving you to deal with this mess. These people are clearly  _ off,  _ even if you ignore the fact that they appeared from thin air, and you have the feeling that calling the cops isn’t going to do you any good. 

“I’m not supposed to give out any guest information,” you say, “but… since it’s a safety concern—”

The woman slaps a photograph down on the counter. You think your eyes are playing tricks, at first, because the Draco Malfoy staring back at you from the photo scowls and crosses his arms. Your hand trembles as you pick up the photo and pretend that everything is normal.  _ Everything is normal.  _ “This is him?” you ask. “I’m afraid I haven’t seen him around.”

“Could’ve used Polyjuice,” one of the men growls out. 

“Would you like to see the guest book?” Your knees are weak. Maybe if you seem helpful and friendly, they’ll leave you alone. You flip the book around, and she snatches it up and scans the most recent page. “I’m sorry, you said his name is…?”

She pulls a dark, short wooden stick from her sleeve. It looks… It looks like a magic wand from a movie, but that  _ can’t _ be right, can it? She taps it against her chin, silently regarding you for a moment. “Draco.”

You try not to flinch, to give away no signs of recognition as you slowly shake your head. “Sorry.”

“I think the little Muggle might be  _ lying, _ Bellatrix,” the thinner of the two men says.

“Muggles always lie. Deceitful creatures.”

“Excuse me, but—”

“Immobulus,” she says, pointing her wand at your chest, and your muscles stiffen and freeze. 

_ This has to be a nightmare,  _ you tell yourself.  _ This isn’t real.  _

“Careful,” the other man cautions. “You won’t get anything out of her if you break her to start.”

If you could, you’d scream. 

You can’t even blink. 

And  _ because  _ you can’t blink, you see the pale blond hair of Draco Malfoy flash by the window by the door, momentarily illuminated by the lightning. Your heart feels like it’s about to burst, and the woman waves her wand and sends you crumpling to the ground. 

You try to scramble away as the trio rounds the counter to corner you, but your muscles are stiff and aching and your mind is frazzled from the stress. You’d always hoped that you’d be able to remain calm and clear-headed in a crisis scenario, but that clearly isn’t the case. 

But then someone bellows what sounds like  _ ‘Expelliarmus,’  _ followed almost immediately by _ ‘Bombardia’ -  _ nonsense words to only add a more surreal edge to this entire nightmare. A chunk of the ceiling and shelving above the counter comes crashing down, and you throw yourself from behind the crushed counter and sprint towards the door—

Until Draco Malfoy catches you roughly, his arm around your waist, and there’s an ear-splitting pop as he yanks you off your feet, at which point your body decides that the only reasonable course of action left is to entirely black out. 

Or, maybe you didn’t black out - maybe the rest of the world simply disappeared from around you, because you’re suddenly in a dark, cold alleyway, limp and stunned in the arms of the man who has just become - without a shadow of a doubt - the absolute  _ worst  _ guest you’ve ever had the displeasure of encountering. 

“Thought you’d get splinched,” he mutters, and then he practically drops you and snaps one of the magic-wand things in half and tosses it into a dumpster. 

“I…  _ What?” _ you cry, but he’s grabbed your hand and is on the move again, and you’re tripping over your own feet to keep up. Wherever you are, it’s freezing, and you aren’t dressed for it at all. “Wait—”

“I don’t have  _ time,  _ Muggle, in case you haven’t noticed.”

“Those were  _ wizard  _ people. You’re… you’re magic. Oh, God, magic is  _ real—” _

“Shut up,” he hisses. He drags you at a breakneck pace around one corner, and then down another block or two, then another corner. Your teeth are chattering, and you aren’t certain if it’s from the cold or the shock. 

Eventually, he stops in front of a modest-looking, older hotel; the fact that it’s in such a dense downtown area makes you wonder how he plans to pay, but he marches straight to the elevator and drags you along with him. 

“Try to look a bit more pleasant,” he says. “Merlin, people are going to think I’m dragging you off to murder with you looking at me like that.”

You gape, a little offended outrage replacing some of your fear. “Excuse me? You have no right to say  _ anything  _ to me about how I look right now, you arrogant blond  _ bastard—” _

“I saved your life.”

“You’re the reason my life was in danger in the first place! Thanks for the warning, by the way - I was totally prepared for the magical lunatics to show up in the middle of the night looking for your sorry ass—”

He shakes you by the front of your sweater, his eyes cold and furious. “I said  _ shut up.” _

The elevator dings; he’s chosen one of the top floors, for some reason - Floor 13. You step into the hallway, swaying a bit as some of the adrenaline begins to fade. “You got a room here, wizard-boy?” you ask. 

“I’m going to borrow one, actually,” he replies matter-of-factly, and he makes his way down the hall whispering at doorknobs like some sort of absolute maniac as you stand there in baffled silence. 

“Here,” he finally says, and he seems irritated when he remembers you’re still there, waiting right where he’d left you. “Come on, then.”

You follow him. What choice do you really have? You don’t know where you are, and you doubt that screaming for someone to call the police on a bunch of magical assailants is going to get you very far. Besides, if those people can just teleport wherever they want like Draco did, then you’d rather stick with the guy who also knows how to do crazy magical things. 

And so you find yourself illicitly occupying a hotel room with Draco Malfoy, who looks like he could use a very strong drink. He locks the door, then deadbolts it, then - much to your horror - pricks the tip of his finger with a penknife produced from his pocket and begins drawing on the doorframe with his own blood. 

Your stomach heaves, and you flee into the bathroom.

He raps on the door a few minutes later. You’re still retching, so you ignore him. The door unlocks of its own accord and swings open. 

_ “Merlin,” _ he says once again, like it’s some sort of curse, “you’re useless. Get up.”

“I think I hate you,” you tell him. Your vision blurs and spins when you stand and turn to confront him over whatever the hell just happened, and you realize as your legs turn to jelly that cracking your head open on the granite countertop is probably going to hurt quite a lot. 

You open your eyes to Draco Malfoy lightly smacking your face. “Wake up, Muggle. I haven’t got all day.”

“What?”

“I’m not some kind of nursemaid for the fragile and helpless,” he says, dropping a sopping, icy washcloth on your face. 

It actually feels pretty nice. 

“Is this real, or a really awful dream?” you ask him. “Because this seems more like a movie than real life, if you ask me. But I don’t know if it’s actually possible to feel this sick in a dream.”

He scoffs and kicks off his boots, then throws himself down on the armchair by the window in a huff. It’s an impressive temper-tantrum, coming from a fully grown man who just blew up your workplace and magicked you to who knows where. 

You sit up. “Hello? I feel like I deserve an answer or two. Also, was the crazy lady really your aunt? Are you in some kind of cult or something? Or—”

“She is,” he grits out. “Obviously, we’re estranged.”

“I could tell.”

“Kinda wish you’d warned me that you were being hunted by crazy magicians,” you tell him. “I could’ve died.”

“You didn’t, though, did you?” He doesn’t sound like that’s something that really fills him with relief. If anything, he sounds irritated. 

“Why bother saving me if you’re just going to be a jerk about it?” you ask. At least your temper is doing a great job of shoving away your panic over nearly dying. 

He sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose, grimacing like he’s got the world’s worst headache. “I made an unfortunate vow to someone when I needed help,” he says, “and now it’s coming back to haunt me.”

“What does that even mean?”

“It  _ means _ I made an Unbreakable Vow that I’d try to keep Muggles I encountered from harm’s way, and abandoning you with a lot of Death Eaters was about to burn my blasted arm off—”

_ “Death Eaters?” _

Draco Malfoy groans. “Merlin, you don’t know anything. I keep forgetting—”

“So explain. It seems like we’ve got time, since you’ve decided to kick back and relax.”

“I’m not relaxed,” he replies, and then he hesitates. “This’ll break the Statute of Secrecy, I reckon.”

“Secret’s already out, don’t you think? A crazy lady just used magic on me. I’m not exactly going to forget that.”

“You’re a Muggle,” he continues, gesturing at you like you’re the least impressive specimen in the world. “Non-magical. A lesser being.”

“Okay,  _ rude—” _

“You did ask.”

You grit your teeth. “Fine. What’s this Vow, then? Why did—?”

“I decided to leave my former occupation,” he interrupts, his grey eyes icy and distant. “I couldn’t very well stay in Wizarding Britain if I wanted to stay alive, and I didn’t have many options for people to help me get out.”

Something clicks into place, and you scramble back against the headboard, pointing accusingly.  _ “You’re  _ a Death Eater!”

He rolls up his sleeve to reveal his inner left forearm, burned and scarred. “I was,” he says. “I left.”

“They’re murderers. You’re a murderer.”

He doesn’t say anything. 

“Well?” you prompt, clutching one of the pillows defensively, as if it’ll help in some way if he decides to murder you, too. “Answer me,  _ Draco.” _

“I didn’t… have the stomach for it,” he says. 

You take a deep breath. “So, just to clarify, if you hadn’t made some kind of sacred oath to the person who helped you go on the run, you would’ve just left me to die back there?”

Draco Malfoy actually smiles, even if it’s grim and a little bitter. “It actually worked out for the best, saving you,” he says. “I left the Dark Mark in the sky over your motel - when the local wizarding authorities investigate, it’ll look like some poor Muggle got herself killed by Death Eaters right on their own turf. Maybe it’ll make MACUSA actually do something, for once.”

“I… MACUSA?” Your head is still spinning. Maybe you’re hallucinating. That would make a lot more sense than whatever it is that Draco Malfoy’s spewing. 

“The Magical Congress of the United States of America. They’ve turned a blind eye to the Dark Lord’s regime for years now, but now that there’s evidence he’s sending agents outside of his territories…”

“I want to go home. Or… or somewhere that’s not here with you.” You scoot to the edge of the bed. “So if you’ll excuse me—”

“You can’t. They’ll find you, they’ll torture you, and they’ll kill you. This is the safest place you can possibly be, and since you’re apparently now  _ my  _ problem, thanks to bloody Granger and her idiotic spells, you’d best get settled in for the night.”

“Are you serious?” you ask him, still clutching the pillow. “I mean… this is all real? The magic, the danger, all of it? Because—”

“It’s real,” he says. “It’s all real.”

Stunned, you sit back on the edge of the bed.  _ It can’t be real. _ “How long will we have to stick together, then?”

Draco Malfoy scowls. “As long as it takes.”


	2. Chapter 2

Draco Malfoy has kept you trapped in a hotel room with him for over twenty-four hours. Neither of you have slept. You’re so hungry that you’re almost ready to frisk him, just in case he’s got some crackers hidden somewhere on his person. 

“Stop looking at me like that,” he snaps. 

“Let me  _ out _ .”

“No.”

“Look, you said I’m your problem now, right? I’m gonna be a much bigger problem for you soon. I’m not  _ nice  _ when I’m hungry.”

_ “Merlin,”  _ he mutters, flipping through the pages of a ratty old magazine for probably the hundredth time since you’ve gotten to the hotel. “I don’t want to go out. I’m a wanted man.”

“Why don’t you let me go out alone, then?”

“No,” he says. He flips another page. You go to the window, and he finally looks up. “What are you doing?”

“I’m going to get this damned window open, and I’m going to climb outside and find food.  _ That’s _ what I’m doing.”

He tosses the magazine aside and stands, his cheeks flushed with anger. “Are you mad? We are  _ thirteen _ stories above the ground.”

You’re still struggling with the window screen. You’re pretty sure it’s screwed shut, but you don’t want to admit defeat so quickly, especially not with  _ him _ watching you. “Yeah, well, maybe there’s a fire escape or something.” You yank on the handle of the screen more viciously, frustrated when it refuses to budge. 

He’s quick - a little quicker than he should be - and he’s darted across the room and hauled you away from the window before you even have the chance to realize that he’s coming for you. You’re discarded carelessly on the bed, and Draco glares down at you. “We’ll go out in the morning,” he says. “After the sun is up.”

“Afraid of the dark?” you taunt, but your bravado falters when Draco’s expression grows taut. 

“Yes,” he says, “I am.”

He leaves you gracelessly sprawled on the bed, and you try to nap until sunrise, but your stomach doesn’t allow for much rest. While you pretend to sleep, though, Draco gets up and paces the room, over and over and over again. He’s more a caged animal than you are. You’d feel bad for him, except it’s his fault you’re stuck here and at risk of being magically murdered. 

You finally manage to doze, and Draco shakes you awake almost immediately. “Come on,” he says. “You’re the one who wants to get us killed.”

“Any chance you were a theater kid? Drama club, maybe?” He looks at you like you’re talking crazy. Maybe they don’t have a drama club, back in Jolly Olde Wizarding Britain.

It takes more of his blood to open the door.  _ Gross.  _ “So, all the blood is because…?”

“I don’t have a wand. Blood-magic is a last resort. Protection runes. It’s actually very advanced. Very few wizards in my generation—” The door unlocks, and you shove past him before he can continue.  _ Freedom.  _ Relative freedom, though, because you’re still metaphorically tethered to Draco Malfoy. 

“Why’d you break your wand, then?”

“It wasn’t mine.”

“You’re so great at explaining things.”

“I’m not usually explaining myself to muggles,” he protests. “Wands are particular to certain people, and that wand was  _ not _ fond of me. It could’ve gotten us tracked, too.”

“Should’ve kept it,” you reply. “Could’ve at least stabbed someone with the pieces.” You tap the elevator button over and over again, impatient and twitchy. “I’m still waiting to find out that this is just a stupid nightmare. Maybe if I’m really lucky, there was just toxic mold in the motel that’s sent me into some kind of terrible hallucination.”

He follows you into the elevator. “It  _ is _ real,” he insists, “no matter how much I wish it wasn’t.”

“You have money, right? Or you can get us some? I need food. You aren’t going to like me if I get any hungrier.”

“I already don’t like you.”

_ Noted. _ The elevator opens to a crowded lobby, and you duck your head and stick close to Draco’s side. “Buy me food, or you’re about to like me a lot less.” You then spy a tempting continental breakfast spread laid out, and you try to change course, but he catches your arm. “What? It’s free, and it’s right there.”

“Someone might’ve noticed us. We need to keep moving.” 

“Noticed us? We literally just left the room—”

“Just keep walking,” he says, “and keep your voice down.” He steers you outside and onto a side street, then into a narrow alley. 

“Look,” you say, “it’s broad daylight, and your evil wizard friends didn’t seem like the type to show up in a crowd. I think—  _ ohmyGod.”  _ A flash of light, faster than you can process, whizzes by your head and dents a dumpster not three feet in front of you. You practically climb Draco like a tree in your panic, and an unsettling, bubbly darkness congeals at both ends of the alley, cutting off any escape. 

_ Magic.  _ The last thing in the world you want to encounter right now is more magic. 

You’re pretty sure this means that the oddly-dressed man and woman stepping out of the dark mass, wands in hand, are just like Draco.  _ Damn it, not more wizard-people. Why did he have to be right? _

“Hands up,” the woman snaps, “and if you have a wand or any muggle weapons, drop them.” 

Draco’s hands raise immediately. You cling to his shirt for a moment more, then decide to follow his lead. “No wands, no weapons,” he says. “There must be some misunderstanding.”

“No misunderstandings.” She holds up a polished, oddly-shaped badge. “Magical Law Enforcement. Draco Malfoy, you’re coming with us.”

He laughs. “No, I’m not.”

“You are subject to detainment for committing a clear violation of the International Statute of Secrecy. You have performed magic in front of a muggle, Malfoy.”

“I  _ didn’t _ break the International Statute of Secrecy,” he sneers, grabbing your hand. “She’s my wife. The spousal exemption clause applies.”

That only seems to make the new magical people more agitated. It makes  _ you _ feel pretty agitated, too.  _ ‘Wife?’  _

“Draco Malfoy,” the woman says, her voice shrill, “you are under arrest for a clear violation of Rappaport’s Law, which  _ explicitly  _ forbids the union of a wizard and a No-Maj—”

“Rappaport’s Law doesn’t  _ apply _ to me, witch. You don’t have international jurisdiction over  _ marriage—” _

_ “Death Eater!” _

Draco twists his wrist, and a wand appears from…  _ nowhere? Up his sleeve, maybe? _

“Wand  _ down,”  _ the other man barks, brandishing his own wand… which seems a little ridiculous, in your humble opinion, not that anyone’s bothering to ask you.  _ “Now, _ Death Eater.”

Draco’s smile is sharp and unpleasant. “Lucky for me that being a Death Eater isn’t a crime here, isn’t it? Luckier still that MACUSA doesn’t officially accept that Death Eaters exist at all. Do you really want to duel me, Sayre? You know who I am.”

You cling to Draco’s side as loud pops sound out, more witches and wizards appearing around you in the dark alleyway. They’re  _ all _ holding wands, and you’re almost tempted to pick up a stick from the ground, just so you don’t feel quite so left out.

“You’re outmanned, Malfoy,” the woman says. “It’ll go easier if you cooperate.” She points at you. “Unless you want to risk that one getting caught in the crossfire. You wouldn’t want that, would you? I mean, that wouldn’t be showing a lot of spousal concern, would it?”

Draco spits out a curse - you think it might be in French - and drops the backup-wand to the ground. It makes an oddly brittle, heavy clatter for such a slender thing, and you realize that the bubbles surrounding you are doing something strange to your senses. You wiggle your fingers, and you can see little ripples of resistance in the air. 

“Damn it, Sayre, will you restrain them?”

Why is the air _ sticky? _ You curse, too. Everyone else is doing it.

One of the newcomers grabs your arm. “You ever done Side-Along before?”

“What?” you ask, but the answer must not matter, because something yanks at your stomach and sends you spinning through darkness. You flail, and when your feet hit solid ground, you throw up all over the magical police-guy’s shoes.

Unsurprisingly, that leads to a whole new spate of profanity that only sounds vaguely-human.

The woman pops into existence right beside you, Draco in her grasp, and her nose wrinkles in disgust. “Merlin, Malfoy!”

“Don’t blame me,” Draco sneers - and you’re starting to realize that Draco almost  _ always _ sneers. “You’re the ones who decided to surprise a muggle with Side-Along Apparition. What did you expect?”

“I could use some water, please,” you croak. “Please. And… and a lawyer.”

Draco tries to shake off his handler, but she’s tenacious, so he resorts to glaring at everyone in the room. “Get her a mint, while you’re at it.”

Water and a stick of gum are mercifully provided, then the two of you are unceremoniously shoved into a tiny room with a single lightbulb dangling from the ceiling, surprisingly bright. It looks like a facsimile of every interrogation room you’ve ever seen on TV, lending more credence to the idea that this is all just a really weird dream. Draco paces like a caged wolf, and you stare at the door that has no handle, willing yourself to wake up.

“Is this real?”

“Of course it’s real.”

Your stomach lurches again. “Don’t say that.”

“We’ve got to leave. He has spies everywhere. He fumbles in his pocket for a moment, his brow furrowed in concentration, then produces an old, ornate ring, a diamond-encrusted emerald set in a heavy gold band. “Give me your hand,” he says. You don’t, so he seizes it himself and shoves the ring onto your finger. 

It burns. 

“Damn it,” you hiss, “what the  _ hell—” _

“Family heirloom.” 

He looks equally furious as he slides a plain golden ring on his own finger, and you wonder what the magical police are going to think if they walk in and find you and Draco Malfoy strangling each other with your bare hands. The burning intensifies for a moment, then subsides.

“I don’t want one of your stupid family heirlooms,” you tell him. You try to pull the thing off, but it won’t budge. “Get this thing off of me now, Draco.”

“I can’t,” he says, his jaw stubbornly set.

“What do you  _ mean, _ you—”

The door to the interrogation room slams open, and you recoil, practically plastering yourself against the wall as a couple of stern, dour-looking wizards storm into the room. “Mr. Malfoy,” the taller one says, a mustachioed man with a very old-fashioned looking monocle, “you’re far from home, aren’t you?”

“Is that a crime?”

Your interrogators share a glance. “We’ve got you for a clear, admitted violation of the International Statute of Secrecy, and that’s enough to hold you on,” the shorter one says.

“As I already explained to your esteemed colleagues in the field,” Draco says, grabbing your wrist and waving your hand in the air like it’s incriminating evidence, “spousal exemption applies.”

“Nice try, Malfoy, but—”

“Check it, if you don’t believe me. Merlin, it is  _ extraordinary _ how inefficient you lot are. Let’s get this over with; I’m trying to honeymoon, and there’s no way in hell I’m going to let you Obliviate my wife.”

The taller wizard frowns and flicks his wand, and you try  _ really _ hard not to visibly freak out when a golden beam of light threads between your and Draco’s fingers, wrapping snugly around your rings. Both of the police-wizards’ eyes widen, which doesn’t do much to ease your mind.

“Magically-binding,” Draco tells them, tiredly triumphant. 

Short-cop whistles. “I’ll bet Lucius Malfoy is rolling in his grave.”

Draco’s eyes harden. “Most likely. Is it better or worse than marrying a mudblood, I wonder?”

That seems to go over even worse than the ring-reveal. Mustache-cop turns an apoplectic shade of red. “You’re scum.”

You want to talk… but you don’t know what to say. You don’t even understand half of what  _ they’re _ saying. 

“Is… is attempted murder a crime that you guys recognize?” you ask hesitantly. “Because Bellatrix Lestrange  _ did  _ try to murder me, and that…” You swallow. They’re all staring at you. “That seems like it should be a bigger deal than this.”

“Bellatrix Lestrange isn’t in America. We would know.”

“Well, now you know,” you say. “I mean, she came after us for… for revenge, I guess?” You glance at Draco. He’s the one who came up with this stupid, ridiculous marriage story. He isn’t helping you come up with a story, so you decide to just angle for righteous indignation. “Um, because I’m a mug… muggle? Tracked us down to a motel, and she nearly blew my head off.”

They exchange a look.

“Let’s consider our options. You can’t keep me here for being a Death Eater,” Draco says, “because, unless something has changed in the past twenty-four hours, there  _ are _ no active Death Eaters. You can’t hold me on a violation of the Statute, because—” he wiggles his fingers “—we’re married. Most importantly, you don’t want to hold me, because, if the Dark Lord really  _ is _ in control of Wizarding Britain - which, officially, of course, he’s not - you wouldn’t want to be caught up in the midst of power struggle within his ranks, would you? I know  _ you _ have a large family, Sayre.”

“Are you threatening me?”

“Threaten? Me?” Draco takes your hand. His grip is cold, and his smile is forced. “I’d just like to sort all of this out. The lighting in here isn’t very romantic, is it?”

The law-wizards leave without another word, and you’re quick to reclaim your hand. “They’re going to keep us forever,” you say. “I guarantee it. How do you know that guy? Sayre?”

“Old families,” he dismissively replies. “We’re probably related; I’ve got relatives in half of the pureblood families in the western Wizarding World. They’ll let us out. I’m too much trouble, and the last thing MACUSA wants right now is to deal with the Dark Lord.”

You’re considering the pros and cons of wringing his neck. “That’s what you’re counting on? Being too much trouble?”

The door opens again, and only one of the wizards steps inside the room. “Get out,” he says. His face is mottled, giving the impression that he’s just gotten out of a screaming-match with someone. “You’re free to go. Get out of my city, Malfoy.” He gives you a nod that holds only slightly less loathing.  _ “Mrs.  _ Malfoy.”

You can practically feel Draco gloating. 

They dump the two of you off on a roadside somewhere outside of the next city over, this time via some kind of enchanted styrofoam coffee cup. You manage to keep the contents of your stomach down, this time around, so you decide you’re getting pretty good at the whole ‘magical transport’ thing. You start down the road, then realize you have no idea where you’re going.

“What do we do now?”

He holds his hand up to shield his eyes from the sun. “I see buildings.”

You squint. “Miles away, maybe.”

“We’ll walk.”

“I—”

“Shut up and walk,” he says, “and I’ll get you something to eat. Alright?”

You make one more attempt to get the ring off of your finger. It doesn’t even wiggle, and your scowl deepens. “Fine.”

* * *

Your boots are  _ not _ made for walking.

By the time the two of you drag yourselves to the next town over, the sun is high in the sky, and Draco Malfoy is turning decidedly pink. Do wizards wear sunscreen? It looks like he could use some. Another car whizzes past. “Are you sure you don’t want to hitchhike the rest of the way?” you ask. “I think my feet have given up the ghost.”

“No.”

You wonder why he’s so wary of cars. “There’s officially a hole in my sole,” you tell him, eager to distract yourself from your aching bones. “Add a new pair of shoes to all of the things you owe me.”

“Right.”

“Hey, I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but we’re kind of stuck together, so you’d better get off whatever high horse you’re on and start acting friendly.” You stick your finger in your mouth and try to bite down on the ring, wondering if it’s real gold. Maybe you can pawn it.

“Merlin, it’s not a bear trap,” Draco says. “You can’t  _ gnaw _ it off.”

“Gold is supposed to be soft,” you say. “Is it real?”

The look he gives you is scathing, though his sweaty, flushed face detracts from the overall effect. “Yes.”

“Why were you carrying around a pair of enchanted wedding rings?”

“Because,” he curtly replies, “I was supposed to get married.”

That stops you dead in your tracks. “Are you… are you a  _ runaway groom? _ Is that what’s happening? Oh my  _ God _ . You got me into this mess because you got cold feet—”

“I didn’t,” he interrupts. “I mean, I’m not. Not in the traditional sense, at least.” Another car passes. The driver honks, and you see Draco flinch. “It was a… political arrangement. It’s complicated.”

“Yeah, I’ll bet.”

He doesn’t offer up any additional details, and you lapse into silence. Eventually, you come to an intersection that has a bit more traffic, and you realize that Draco Malfoy doesn’t seem to understand how traffic lights work. 

You hold onto his sleeve. “Please be careful. You’re the one who’s going to find us somewhere to stay, remember? I kinda need you in one piece.”

Draco sighs.

The hotel room he sneaks you into this time around isn’t as fancy. The comforter on the bed is a dull shade of olive green, and the office chair in the corner is too big for the wobbly desk beside it. Still, you’re just relieved to have somewhere to sit down and process the absolute nightmare that is your life, and you’re even more relieved to get your shoes off.

Draco commandeers the bed. You sit on the chair and mournfully poke at the gaping hole in the sole of your shoe. They weren’t expensive or anything, but where are you going to get new shoes? “Hey, can you get me shoes?” you ask. “When you go out to get something to eat?”

“No,” he says.

“No?”

“No. We’re married, remember? If I go out, you’re going with me.”

“I don’t want to be married to you. I  _ didn’t _ marry you.”

He holds up his hand. “Tell that to the ring.”

“You are an absolute bastard, Draco,” you begin, “and if you think for one second—”

“I’m not being glib,” he says. “The ring says we’re married, and there isn’t much that either of us can do about it, unless you’d like to cut your finger off. Believe it or not, this isn’t how I wanted to spend my wedding night.” He covers his face with a pillow and groans. “I should’ve married Astoria when I had the chance—”

“Oh,  _ woe _ is you.  _ Poor Draco Malfoy—  _

“Will you be quiet? I know, I know, I ruined your life, you’ll never forgive me,  _ etcetera.  _ Now, will you let me sleep?”

You huff. “What about your wand?”

“What about it?” Draco asks.

“You had a backup wand, and you lied about it. Not that it did us any good, I guess.”

“Oh, that. It wouldn’t have worked. That one didn’t care for me. If I’d tried to use it, I’d have likely blown us both to Kingdom Come.”

“The stick… didn’t  _ like _ you?” You prod at him with your foot. “Hey, answer me. I could’ve told them that we just met. You owe me.”

“The wand chooses the wizard,” he says. “If you try to do anything useful with a wand that doesn’t have an affinity for you, you’ll have trouble.”

“Do you have another one hidden somewhere?” you ask, and you abandon the uncomfortable office chair in favor of the bed. “Or any other cool, magical stuff?”

“No.”

You kneel beside him, but any menace is wasted on him, since he still has his face hidden behind a pillow. “I don’t believe you, Malfoy.”

“You can search me, if you want,” he replies, his voice muffled. 

You decide to call his bluff and start patting down his pockets. Draco’s grip on the pillow tightens. You wonder if he’s hoping to smother himself. “Do you have any more money stashed somewhere, at least?”

“My father warned me about women trying to marry me for my fortune…”

Frustrated, you snatch the damned pillow away. He’s going to face you, like it or not. “Is this suddenly funny to you? I don’t care if magical binding wedding-curses are a  _ thing _ where you’re from; I want this ring off of my finger, and I want to go back to my regular life.”

Draco blinks up at you, his eyes appearing an even lighter grey by the unfortunate sunburn mottling his cheeks. “Haven’t you realized it yet, muggle?” he says. “There  _ is _ no going back.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i guess this is now officially a multichapter WIP 🙃

**Author's Note:**

> I've had some requests for Draco Malfoy/Reader on my Tumblr, so this is my take on it! ;D


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